


All Hope Lost

by MordorIsCalling



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Bilbo the heartbreaker, Bilbo's POV, Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Fíli & Kíli & Thorin Live, Grief/Mourning, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Thorin's POV, aka welcome to my Tolkien version of Twilight, also Bilbo gets more BAMF with time, just three fools stuck in a love triangle honestly, let's just suffer, like reaal slow, not thorin's!, or not sorry?, or sth of that sort, this fic is mostly feeligs i'm sorry, well not really but it's complicated ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-06-09 13:05:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15268113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MordorIsCalling/pseuds/MordorIsCalling
Summary: Unpredictable as the great scheme of things tended to be, it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise that Bilbo’s life took yet another unexpected turn after the Battle of Five Armies.In which Bilbo, thinking that he had destroyed his chances with Thorin, couldn’t help but be quite charmed by one of Dáin’s generals. Thorin was happy for his friend. He really was. Not all hope was lost for one of the two of them, at least.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! :D
> 
> So, the other day I thought to myself that there are fics in this fandom in which Thorin is expected to marry someone who isn't Bilbo after the reclamation of Erebor (and what do you mean Thorin died, no such thing happened!), but I don't think there are many fics in which Bilbo is courted by someone who isn't Thorin after the Quest. I believe this is a concept worth exploring, so I'll try to give it a go.
> 
> Also, guys, pls be gentle with me. This is my first fic in English and I'm hella nervous. It's not my native language and I don't have a beta, so if there are any mistakes, do point them out to me ;)
> 
> Enjoy the prologue! :3

_The 6 th of July, 2943 T.A._

There was no light of sunrise to admire this early morning. The sky was heavily clouded and grey, but it wasn’t the good, stone-like kind of grey. Rather, it was like a heavy layer of lethargy, descending from the sky and suffocating the landscape. It felt nauseating and made everything around him seem rough, dry and sharp around the edges. Or maybe he just saw the world this way because of his tiredness.

The King under the Mountain let out a heavy sigh. He stood on the terrace near his quarters in the Royal Wing after a yet another sleepless night.

He had been having trouble sleeping for many years, but he couldn’t recall his insomnia getting so severe ever before. He had had just a few good nights since they had reclaimed Erebor, and, even though dwarves were a hardy folk, it had been too long without a solid rest. He was at the brink of exhaustion but sleep wouldn’t come no matter what. Unbidden thoughts and worries had been keeping him awake. Silly wishes had been gnawing at his mind, filling him with bitter anger.

Most of it all came down to one Bilbo Baggins, of course.

Truth be told, his Burglar had been at the centre of his thoughts for far longer that he would care to admit. Of course, Bilbo didn’t belong to anyone, especially not to him. Yet Thorin allowed himself to be a little selfish in the privacy of his own mind; that was the only thing he could have after what had happened before  _and_  after the Battle…  

“Thorin?” A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

Speak of the devil.

He turned around to see Bilbo at the entrance of the terrace, already dressed for the day. He wore a thin black tunic and simple black trousers. Even though the dwarven style of clothing fitted the Hobbit somehow, the colour did not, and it always made Thorin’s heart ache that Bilbo still refused to return to wearing brighter garments.  

“Bilbo.” The King raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What brings you here so early?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Bilbo replied as he walked towards Thorin. “It’s around five in the morning.” The Hobbit stood beside him, leaning against the terrace’s railing.

Thorin sighed, glancing back at the Mountain. His kingdom was about to wake up. “Couldn’t sleep,” the King murmured, “had to clear my mind.”

His Burglar watched him closely for a long moment. “You look like you can’t sleep on most nights.” Bilbo frowned in concern.

The King smiled crookedly but didn’t answer.

“Thorin,” the Hobbit said in that scolding tone of his, which he often used when  _‘he had no patience for the stubbornness of dwarves’_ , “why won’t you ask for help?”

“I…” Thorin began slowly, “I feel like nothing can help me at this point.”

“But have you  _actuall_ y asked anyone?” Bilbo squinted at him in suspicion. “Have you tried asking Óin for some herbs, for example?”

Thorin’s silence was an answer enough. Bilbo hid his face in his hands and mumbled something sounding like “sweet Eru and Yavanna, give me strength.”

“Let me guess,” the Hobbit said then, looking at Thorin with disbelief. “Your kingly pride doesn’t allow you to show weakness.”

“Well…” Thorin grunted.

“But imagine,” Bilbo didn’t let him finish, “if you collapse of exhaustion in front of the whole Court! What a display of weakness would  _that_  be.”

Thorin grimaced at the very idea.

“And,” his Burglar continued, “Óin is, in fact, a healer. He knows better than anyone that people tend to be weak and get sick sometimes.”

That… made perfect sense.

“If you want to keep it a secret, I can prepare some herbal brew for you by myself,” Bilbo offered.

Thorin felt a wave of gratitude wash trough him. “Thank you,” he said earnestly.

Bilbo just shot him a quick smile. “Now,” the Hobbit started matter-of-factly, “do you want something just to soothe your nerves or a knock-Dwalin-out kind of thing?”

Thorin chuckled. “I would be grateful for anything that would make me fall asleep.” He rubbed at his tired eyes.

“I’ll make sure about that.” Bilbo patted his forearm.

Thorin guessed this gesture was the hobbit way of showing compassion, and it made him smile slightly. “But I think you should ask Óin about which herbs help dwarves,” he added with a smirk. “We don’t want you poisoning me.”

Bilbo snickered. “I must confess I’m tempted to do so sometimes,” the Hobbit joked, “after putting up with your stubbornness for too long.”

The King laughed. If there was anyone to put him in his place and call him out on his pride, that would be Bilbo Baggins, that impossible Hobbit.

Then, they both stared ahead, saying nothing for some time. Suddenly it dawned on him that Bilbo hadn’t answered why he had got up so early. As Thorin asked about that, Bilbo tensed noticeably and let out a shaky breath, giving no response, his mouth set in a firm line.

“It’s…” his Burglar uttered finally. “Today it’s been a year since…” He looked in the direction of the Iron Hills.

 _Ah_.

Bilbo’s betrothed had been returned to the stone a year ago.

Thorin didn’t really know what to say.

“I think I should visit his tomb soon,” the hobbit spoke quietly, more likely to himself, while still gazing towards the Iron Hills.

“I’ll provide an escort for you,” Thorin offered.

Bilbo thanked him but said no more.

They stayed silent for a while and it occurred to him that they had never really talked about this before. It seemed that the subject was too difficult for them to discuss even a year later.

“Sometimes I think to myself that wearing mourning for a year is enough,” Bilbo broke the silence, “but then moving on seems so hard, it feels like betraying and forgetting him.”

Thorin felt a pang in his chest at seeing his Burglar so rueful. “I’m certain Farí would want you to be happy,” he said gently.

Bilbo looked as if he had been slapped when he heard his intended’s name. Thorin began apologizing hurriedly but Bilbo silenced him by taking his hand and squeezing it.

“I understand you want to console me.” Bilbo let go of Thorin’s hand quickly. “It’s just that… Farí called me his  _dajnel_ ,” Bilbo rasped, “but come to think of it, he quite possibly was my  _dajnel_ , too. Because… now that he’s gone I feel like all hope is lost”.

Thorin could tell him a lot about living on with the feeling of crushing hopelessness but refrained from voicing his thoughts. Bilbo was hurting enough already.

He hated seeing Bilbo like this, when the Hobbit’s inner light was dimmed by the weight of loss. He so longed to hear Bilbo laugh wholeheartedly again, he so wanted for Bilbo’s bright spirit to return like it had done just a few minutes ago.

But now the Hobbit’s face looked sickly pale in the greyish light, the wrinkles on his forehead seemed deeper, his clothes only making him appear more grim and bereft of hope indeed.  

Black really didn’t become him.

“If there is something I can do to help you, tell me,” Thorin said, almost pleadingly, “I will do anything.”

“You’ve done much already,” Bilbo replied.

“As have you,” Thorin insisted.  

Bilbo cocked his head to the side and frowned.

“Would you really do anything?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes,” Thorin answered without hesitation.

His Burglar blinked incredulously. “You’re so kind to me, Thorin,” Bilbo whispered with a hint of amazement in his voice. “Your kindness is exceptional, really. I can’t find any reason for it.” The Hobbit looked him the eye intently. “I want to know why are you doing all of this.”

Thorin opened his mouth to say something about  _gesture of friendship_  but shut it quickly. There was such intensity in Bilbo’s gaze that he knew this was no time to tell half-truths. His heart raced as he stared into the Hobbit’s eyes, which were kind and open on the surface but had the glint of unbreakable steel underneath, and Thorin  _loved_  that about them, loved that about Bilbo.

He just loved Bilbo. It drove him mad.

He was so  _tired_  of loving him and knowing that Bilbo would never return his feelings. He had no strength to bear it anymore. His insomnia had exhausted him, too, and he couldn’t think clearly.

And so, Thorin took Bilbo’s face into his hands and kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knooow, I'm such a goddamn tease! Maybe you can forgive me, I'll try to post the next chapter as soon as possible, but writing it may take me some time, I'm not a fast writer and I'm also quite out of practice x)
> 
> According to The Dwarrow Scholar Dictionary that we've been so blessed with, _dajnel_ means "hope of all hopes".
> 
> I'm aware I may've spoiled the fun, setting the prologue _in medias res_ , but that's just my idea for wirting this story. Of course, we will get back in time to how Bilbo met Farí, how their relationship developed, how Thorin moped from the distance and so on. To be frank, I just like to suffer, so I got Farí to make things coplicated af :DD I'm weird, but maybe some of you would like to suffer too x) 
> 
> (This chapter was edited on January the 4th, 2019). 
> 
> So, what are your thoughts? Bad, not bad?


	2. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, you guys, you're so amazing! I'm so grateful for all the comments, kudos and even bookamarks! They gave me motivation in the times of doubt (which was like, all the time). Thank you <3 
> 
> I apologize that this chapter took so long ;-; I had a huge writer's block, and I still feel like I've forgotten how to write (I used to write regularily 4 years ago, abandoned writing 2 years ago, until now). I need time to figure out all this stuff once again x) It's quite possible that this is going to be my pace of writing this fic, but the chapters are going be long, as this one is (which was a surprise even for me). I hope that's quite enough of bagginshield hell ;') 
> 
> I also would like to mention that I'm going to use some concepts that I first encountered in "The Riven Crown". This story was the first one to really made me realize how much _not_ easy peasy lemon squuezy the rebuilding of Erebor was, and some ideas given in it make so much sense! For example the mithril shirt being a sign of Thorin's favour, or the dwarves' animosity towards Bilbo because of what he did with the Arkenstone. So yeah. That fic is really, really good, I wholeheartedly recommed reading it. 
> 
> But for now, please enjoy! :3 (Or so I hope).

_The 9 th of December, 2941 T.A._

The smoke started flying high into the sky and several cries of triumph could be heard across the camp. The last pyre of their enemies’ bodies had just been set ablaze. All the dwarves, elves and men who had lost their lives had been buried by now. The Front Gate had been fixed temporarily, and everyone could start moving into the Mountain.

All that had been accomplished during the course of a bit more than two weeks.

Bilbo shook his head in amazement. The Free Races of Middle Earth could do wonders when they worked together, even if they had been doing so  _quite_  begrudgingly. Bilbo wanted to scoff at the silliness of it.

Alas, he was stopped from further reflection because of the odour that filled the air once again. It disctracted him every time. Even though the burnings had followed soon after the Battle, Bilbo still hadn’t got used to the  disgusting smell of all the buring filth. _Everything_ seemed to smell of it at this point – his clothes, his hair, his skin. He was sure he would never be able to wash it off his body. If he would get a chance, that is.

Oh, how he dreamed of having a hot bath!       

Maybe he would soon get his wish, now that they could move back into the Mountain. Just maybe, though. Nothing seemed certain during these hard, winter days. The heirs of Durin lived for now, negotiations with Thranduil, Bard and Dáin were still underway, but nobody was sure what the next day would bring.

Bilbo sighed. Well, at least he could have breakfast. Or, should he say, a measly excuse for a meal, as they were running short on their food supplies as well. Still, even that was much better than nothing. His stomach growled in agreement, but Bilbo already knew that it wouldn’t be satisfied today. It hadn’t been satisfied in long time, actually. They could have only two meals a day, and it was _quite_   _outrageous_  for a hobbit to eat so little.

Well, it was outrageous for him to even be here. At least that was what the Shire gossipers would say. Thank Yavanna he had stopped caring about that. There were many more important things to care about, such as preparing the upcoming breakfast.

After the Battle a dining area had been set up – it was just numerous bonfires with logs around them - and each of the three races occupied a part of it. Bilbo had volunteered to work the dwarvish cooks, partly because of Bombur being there. Originally he had wanted to help with treating the Durins, but then he had decided that his cooking skills had been needed more than his lack of healer’s knowledge. Thorin, Fíli and Kíli were in good hands anyway. He just wished he had been let around the boys more often. But the guards, who were from the Iron Hills, wouldn’t let him in the lads’ tent, not if he came alone. He needed Dwalin or some other member of the Company to persuade them. Recently he had even started asking Farí for that.

It made him endlessly frustrated that most dwarves were so disapproving of him just because of what he had done with the Arkenstone, dismissing all his other deeds. Shiny jewels, Bilbo found, had some strange sway over other races, dwarves especially. It was ridiculous, damaging, and he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

He snapped out of his gloomy thoughts and set about helping Bombur. They cooked and served many meals and Bilbo quite forgot to eat himself until Bombur practically shoved a plate in his hands.

“Go, laddie,” his friend said, “take a break. And tell Thorin I say hello.”

And so Bilbo took a break. He sat down where he usually did, in the place where the Company dined. It had become a habit of theirs to gather for a meal there every evening, so that Óin informed them how Thorin and the lads fared. They could also discuss the rebuilding and other matters concerning the restoration of Erebor, or just cheer each other up.

Breakfasts, on the other hand, were eaten alone, or in smaller groups, in rush, because a long day of work awaiting them. Yet today Bilbo choose not to hurry, and his decision paid off, for after some time he was rewarded with Ori’s, always delightful, company.

The young dwarf chatted with him for a bit before he started to eat. Suddenly a teasing smile lit up Ori’s face and Bilbo  _knew_  what was coming.

 “Your shadow is here,” the young dwarf whispered, and Bilbo turned to see that, indeed, Farí was approaching them.

The Company had been teasing Bilbo about Farí endlessly, as if their daily meetings meant anything. His friends couldn’t see how ridiculous they were – Bilbo saw them even more often and it  _actually_  didn’t mean anything.

Dwarves, honestly.

Yet Bilbo had taken great liking to some of the Durin’s folk and he couldn’t help but grin as he observed Farí walking towards them with his plate in his hand. The dwarf attracted looks like a magnet – calm and confidence radiated from him, yet there was also something non-judgemental about him, and this combination endeared everyone to him instantly. All the dwarves he passed cheered at the sight of him, and he smiled brightly, clasped their arms and talked to them briefly.

When Farí finally approached Bilbo and Ori, the Hobbit was quite surprised to notice how worn the dwarf looked, as if he had been hard at work for a long time. Still, he seemed to remain his usual cheerful self. He gave a polite bow to Ori, then smiled down at Bilbo.

 “Good morning,” Bilbo greeted him.

“Aye, a good morning it is,” Farí answered, and Bilbo fought down the urge to roll his eyes.

_Dwarves_ , honestly. Would the never learn manners?

Apparently the answer was “no” as Farí sat down next to him on the log unceremoniously. “All the filth has been dealt with,” he said, setting his plate on his knees, “I must say it was really satisfying to be able to set that last pyre on fire.”

“Oh no,” Bilbo gasped jokingly, “don’t tell me you’ve been working all night.”

“How did you get this suspicion, master Baggins?” Farí raised an eyebrow with a smirk.

Bilbo took in his appearance once again – how weary the dwarf looked, and how his face, hair and armour were covered in a layer of grime that hadn’t been there yesterday. “You look terrible,” he deadpanned.  

Farí barked a laugh. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.”

“You can’t stop me from thinking otherwise.”

Bilbo snorted. “Yes, trust a dwarf to try to change the truth with the sheer force of their stubbornness.”

“The truth?” Farí inquired.

“I meant what I said,” Bilbo teased, “it wasn’t a compliment, just stating the fact.”

“Truth, master Baggins,” Farí replied with a merry glint in his eyes, “is a relative thing. Depends on the point of view.”

“Well, that’s rubbish!” Bilbo answered indignantly.

“Oh?“

“There are some things that are always true,” Bilbo stated confidently, “no matter what.”

“For exa—”

A short cough interrupted their bickering. Both of them looked at Ori rapidly, who blushed slightly.

“How rude of us to exclude you from this conversation, master Ori!” Farí exclaimed. “Do say, which one of us do you side with in this dispute?” he asked, causing Ori to gape in surprise for a split second. “Do you agree with me or with Bilbo?”

Ori considered this question for a moment. “I think both of you are a bit right and a bit wrong,” he answered, and the discussion started anew. It even grew quite heated when the problem of killing orcs was mentioned – slaying their enemies might be considered a right thing to do, yet how could killing  _anything_  be actually right? How could the statement that killing is wrong not always be true?

At last, their agreed to disagree on the, quite unsolvable, matter. They stopped their idle debate and returned to eating. During the lull in the conversation a pleasant realisation hit Bilbo. He had met Farí exactly two weeks ago, two days after the Battle, and in similar cirsumstances, too. But Ori hadn't been the one to accompany him back then, it had been Bofur.

_He sat by the fire with Bofur next to him. They weren’t talking much as they were still tired and shaken after the Battle. Bilbo stared at his food mindlessly while the memories of how had seen the Durins almost die kept replaying in his mind. Suddenly, he heard an unfamiliar voice from above him._

_“So, you’re the hobbit.”_

_He looked up from his plate abruptly. Those words had sounded so similar to those which_ the certain someone _once had said that Bilbo was ready to glare daggers into the judgemental stare of_ the certain _blue iris. Instead, Bilbo’s gaze was met by curious eyes in an unnerving, catlike shade of green. He opened his mouth to answer but ended up gaping at the stranger in bewilderment._

_It was a dwarf from the Iron Hills. That in itself was surprising enough to leave Bilbo speechless for a bit, as the lot of them had been honouring him with nothing more than distrustful looks and angry grumbles. What was even more baffling was that this dwarf  bore himself somewhat lordly; he had a fur draped over his shoulders, so he must’ve been a leader of some sort._

_Even though the dwarf’s features were stern and his numerous weaponry could’ve been_ rather _intimidating, he seemed quite approachable to Bilbo. There was an air of kindness about him. His face was pleasant to look at, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes made him appear merry. The impressive mane of golden locks flowing down his shoulders added to his bright charm, and his thick, dark blond beard was braided tastefully._  

_“I-I am.” Bilbo replied finally. He set his plate aside and stood up. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” He bowed deeply. “And you are?”_  

_The dwarf smiled slightly.“Farí, at yours,” he introduced himself with a bow. Then he just stood there, eyeing Bilbo from head to toe. Bilbo tried his best not to squirm under the scrutiny of the feline-like gaze._  

_“I’ve heard strange rumours about a_ malkûn _,”_   _Farí spoke up at last, “and his strange deeds during the Quest of Erebor. I wish to know if the stories are true and you seem to be the best person to tell me how it really was.”_

_“Yes, well.” Bilbo cleared his throat. “It’s a long tale, master Farí, and so full of different adventures that I would find it unbelievable myself.” He beckoned at Bofur. “My friend, master Bofur here, who’s also a member of the Company, can help me to tell the story so that it’s more convincing.”_  

_Bofur’s eyes gleamed with way too much mischief for Bilbo’s liking. He frowned in suspicion but said nothing as his friend exchanged introductions with Farí._

_“You should sit with us by the fire, master Farí,” Bofur suggested, “it’s a long story indeed.”_

_Farí bowed his head in agreement and the three of them sat down. Bilbo started relating their Quest to Farí, switching the narrator’s role with Bofur from time to time. Farí listened intently and rarely asked questions. He looked more and more puzzled as the tale progressed, and laughed too, for Bilbo and Bofur were telling their story in good humour, joking about the absurdity of the Company encountering one peril after another._

_Unfortunately, the cheerful atmosphere was shattered when the matter of Arkenstone was brought up. The air turned icy and a heavy silence fell over them until Farí_   _spoke up. “It was a bold move,” he stated cautiously, “even for a king’s burglar.”_  

_Bilbo straightened and stared at Farí coolly._ _“I-I did what I felt that was needed to be done,” he responded, “no less would’ve shaken Thorin out of his stupor.”_

_Farí frowned at him but Bilbo had been dealing with Thorin for too long to be cowered by a lordly scowl. “I do not say that what you did was wrong,” Farí murmured, “now that I know the whole story, I can see your reasoning. But still, stealing King Thorin’s symbol of kingship right under his nose was… courageous.”_

_Bofur cut in before Bilbo could say anything. “Aye, that’s our hobbit.” He clapped Bilbo on the back. “Sometimes I think he has no instinct for self-preservation, to do something like that, or talk to Thorin the way he did! No to mention the_ dragon _.”_

_Bilbo sniffed in displeasure. “At least Smaug actually listened to what I said,” he grumbled, earning himself two disbelieving laughs._

_Bilbo and Bofur finished their story-telling shortly after that. When they were done, Farí eyed them with new-found respect. “So the rumours were true,” he said, “your Quest was really that perilous, and master Baggins’s deeds were indeed great.”_

_“I wouldn’t—“ Bilbo was interrupted by Farí standing up suddenly._

_“I must go now,” he stated, “please forgive me for leaving you so soon, there are matters I must attend to. Thank you for your time.”_

_Before walking away, he bowed to Bilbo and Bofur, and they returned the gesture. Farí’s gaze lingered on the Hobbit but Bilbo was in no mood for thinking of any reason for that._

_When their new acquaintance disappeared in the maze of tents, Bofur burst out laughing._

_“What’s so funny?” Bilbo frowned._

_“Do you realise,” Bofur choked out between giggles, “who Farí is?”_

_Bilbo had a really,_ really _bad feeling about this as he shook his head, which made Bofur positively roar of laughter. “Bofur, tell me what’s so funny this instant.” Bilbo put his hands on his hips, staring down at his friend._

_It took Bofur some time to calm down enough to be able to say anything._ _“He’s one of the four of Dáin’s generals!” he answered finally._

_Bilbo froze in shock. Bofur guffawed. “And he undressed you with his eyes, he did!” the dwarf added, his words making Bilbo sputter. “Our Bilbo, turning heads of generals! Just wait and there will be_ kings _after you!”_

_Bilbo wasn’t amused._  

Now, however, Bilbo recalled the memory with  _some_  amusement. It had been a bit funny to be unexpectedly approached by someone of such high rank. It was even more funny that Farí had been continuing to approach him ever since that day.

He had happened to bump into Bilbo the next day after their first conversation. Accidentally of course. The same thing happened the day after that, still accidentally. Obviously.  

Then Farí had started accompanying Bilbo during meals. He would eat one meal with Bilbo and dine with his men before or after that. He had been unsure of his reception among the Company at the beginning, but Bilbo’s friends had welcomed him kindly. They had said it would be good to have someone from the Iron Hills who wasn't Dáin to talk about the rebuilding. It had also seemed that they had warmed up to Farí quickly, as Bilbo had. The conversation between the two of them flowed easily and they had got to know each other quite well. Farí had been curious of Bilbo and hobbits in general, and Bilbo had asked him a lot about Iron Hills in turn.

It was no different today; Farí asked him about several hobbit traditions. Ori took part in their conversation too, but then Dori came by to fetch his younger brother as he was needed elsewhere.  Bilbo and Farí were left alone, but silence didn’t last long.

“So, what are you up to today?” Farí asked.

“I’m visiting Thorin,” Bilbo replied, “then the usual, preparing dinner and so on.”

Farí eyed him for a moment. “You seem… determined. To mend your relation with the King.”

“Well.” Bilbo cleared his throat. “He’s my friend, after all. I wish there was kindness between us.”

“I see.” Farí looked to be deep in thought.

Bilbo couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something out. As he asked Farí about that, the dwarf shook his head.

“No, no, don’t worry,” he reassured Bilbo, “it’s just that you’re wearing the mithril shirt on display. An outsider would think you’re in his favour enough and those frequent visits to his tent may be taken as something else entirely.”

The significance of Thorins gift had been explained to him, but no one ever mentioned  _something else_.

“Something… like what?” Bilbo pushed, a dreadful suspicion rising in his mind.

“Like you are… close,” Farí answered measuredly, “and are secretly courting maybe.”

Oh no. That wasn’t good. Not good at all.

“ _Courting?!_ ” Bilbo exclaimed in horror. “ _Secretly?_  What a nonsense!” He sputtered.  “Why did  _nobody_  tell me about this?”

Farí pursed his lips. He spoke up quietly after a moment of hesitation visible on his face, “because they shouldn’t, even as your friends. It’s nobody’s business what’s between you two, and if you were to actually start courting, then there would have to be a kind of official announcement at some point.”

Bilbo was too stunned to say anything, then felt silly. Knowing how secretive dwarves were he really shouldn’t be that surprised.

“I’ve overstepped by telling you this,” Farí’s voice was strained.

Bilbo sighed and patted Farí’s forearm. “I’m grateful you did,” the Hobbit said earnestly, “now excuse me, I must go.” He stood up, ready to leave.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Farí stopped him by grabbing his hand.

He looked down at their joined hands, then at Farí. The dwarf’s gaze was so insistent, and oh, his eyes were quite beautiful, really, in the colour of spring leaves that the sun shone through. But Bilbo wasn’t in the mood for such thoughts now.

“Yes, of course,” he responded distractedly, freeing his palm from Farí’s grasp. “See you then.”

He didn’t wait for a reply and walked away, his mind reeling.

The mentions of courting had opened up a nasty gash within him. It was not easy to even think about the whole thing so Bilbo avoided doing so altogether. He was a Baggins, and Bagginses did not wallow in self-pity.

Yet he was also a Took, and he couldn’t help but be upset sometimes. Upset mostly at his own foolishness, the peak of which he had achieved during  _that_  memorable conversation with Thorin. 

_It was a week after the battle. It was still not certain if Thorin or the boys would live, but Thorin had regained his consciousness and had asked for him. Bilbo followed Balin to the King’s tent, anxiety twisting his gut. He wasn’t certain what to expect – even though Thorin had wished to part with him in friendship during their last conversation on the Ravenhill, the Arkenstone fiasco still loomed over them and needed to be discussed. At least the King was alive. Thorin’s death would’ve been too much to bear, that he was sure of._

_All too quickly, he found himself standing in front of the tent’s entrance. He took a deep breath. Balin shot him an encouraging smile that didn’t really help._

_Bilbo came in and his gaze landed on Thorin immediately._

_The king lay on a cot motionlessly with his eyes closed, wrapped up in bandages. His face was alarmingly pale and his chest barely moved. Bilbo watched it as it rose and fell, almost not believing his eyes. The last time he had seen Thorin, he had thought to have witnessed the spark of life leaving his dear friend’s gaze. He had cried bitterly, but then the eagles had come and it had turned out that there had been some hope for the King left._

_Despite his great nervousness Bilbo couldn’t help but sigh in joy at seeing Thorin actually_ alive _. The loud exhale of breath caught Thorin’s attention and the dwarf’s gaze rested on him soon enough._

_Bilbo, as always, was quite mesmerized by those eyes. He had always found them fascinating and could marvel endlessly at how_ blue _they were, or at how intensely they conveyed any emotion, as if the sheer power of Thorin’s spirit seeped right through them._

_To Bilbo’s immense relief Thorin’s eyes now looked at him clearly, without any sign of sickness of the mind; their gaze was guarded but not unfriendly._

_Bilbo took this as a permission to rush to Thorin’s side._

_“Fíli and Kíli?” Thorin rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper._

_“They live.” Bilbo let the silent “yet” hung in the air._

_Thorin heaved a sigh of relief._

_“They will be fine,” Bilbo reassured, “you will be fine.”_

_Thorin nodded and observed him for a moment._ _“I’m glad to see that you’re well,” he said hoarsely._

_“As well as one can be,” Bilbo answered, “after a battle about which songs will be sung.”_

_“Aren’t they being sung already?” Thorin asked with the tiniest of smiles._

_“Oh, sure, the elves sing quite beautifully every evening,” Bilbo said with fake innocence,  “a true balm to the hart, their sweet music is.”_

_Thorin frowned darkly and Bilbo tried very hard not to snicker. Dwarves, honestly._

_“Anyway, congratulations,” he changed the subject not-so-subtly, “you’re going to become a legend during your lifetime.”_

_Thorin grimaced._ _“I’d rather not know if I’m going to be remembered for reclaiming Erebor or for what happened afterwards.”_

_Bilbo chose to give no reply._

_“Actually, it’s those events that I want to discuss with you.”_

_A cold spear of fear pierced Bilbo’s heart. Some of his dread must’ve shown on his face because Thorin reassured him immediately. “Don’t fret,” he said, “I’m not going to banish you again. Your banishment is lifted.”_

_Bilbo exhaled loudly and smiled at Thorin in relief. The King’s eyes were on him almost all the time, watching him cautiously, smothering him with their blue, blue deepness._

_“I’d like to beg your forgiveness again,” Thorin uttered, “for my actions and words at the gate.”_

_Bilbo squeezed Thorin’s hand but the King continued before he could say anything._

_“I want us to explain this situation once and for all.”_ _He paused for a bit, as if to gather his thoughts, taking the weight of his gaze off Bilbo._ _“I know I treated you poorly at the beginning of our Quest,” he started while looking at the ceiling, “I regret being so mistrustful and doubtful, you know that. You’ve proven me wrong many times over, so I trusted you above all others.”_

_Bilbo recalled that with painful remorse. In the depth of his madness, Thorin had let him, of all people, to stand beside his throne – in the place where even the sons of Fundin hadn’t been allowed to stand._

_“And yet, you stole the Arkenstone…” His eyes were on Bilbo again. “I’m aware of your noble intentions, but I’m not sure if I can trust you fully.”_

_Oh, how much those words stung._

_“I’m still hurt, Bilbo,” he confessed._

_Those words sparked unexpected, uncontainable ire within him._

_“And I’m still hurt that you, after all we’ve been through, tried to_ kill _me!” Bilbo shouted. “Pray tell, what noble intentions do you speak of? I was trapped in that cursed, dead mountain, with a gold-sick king and his helpless companions. You were capable of doing next to anything so that you wouldn’t part with your riches, and there was an elven army waiting just outside Erebor. I didn’t want to_ die _, and I didn’t want any of my friends to die, thank you very much!”_

_Rage equal to his own now lit Thorins eyes._ _“You stole the very heart of the Mountain!” the King answered as loudly as his current state allowed him, which was not that loud at all, but his voice carried a dangerous note of hurtful anger. “It’s the symbol of my kingship and you stole it while being at my services.” A cough interrupted his quiet, threatening rant. “I can think of no worse betrayal – you ridiculed me by giving the symbol of my rule to the elves and the men as_ a way of bargain _, like you had no respect for it at all.” He panted from exertion for a moment, then continued in a more resigned tone, “what kind of king am I now? The burglar I’d hired stole the Arkenstone from me right under my nose. How could the other clans pledge their loyalty to me, after I let that happen?”_

_“Nothing would’ve happened, had you kept your word!” Bilbo shot back, “I was going to give it to you, I really was! But if you’d got it, nothing would’ve stopped you from collapsing into the madness, it would’ve the point of no return!”_

_Thorin stared him down but Bilbo glared right back. “You seem to forget that  you’re not my ruler,” the Hobbit added angrily, “I owe you no respect beyond what you’ve earned yourself since we met. And I did hold you in high regard, but then... You were so changed I was_ terrified _. You suddenly became a greedy, suspicious tyrant. And to think that vouched for your character in Lake Town! Now I feel like an utter fool to have done so.”_

_Thorin looked pained at this confession._ _“We are both fools,” he admitted tiredly, “I wished to make peace with you, and look at us now, arguing over the same thing again.”_

_Bilbo ducked his head in silent agreement but didn’t speak further. Now that they had let out their hurts, the air between them seemed clearer, yet it felt bitter to realise that their relation needed careful mending. Alas, now Bilbo understood that it had been foolish to hope  their bond to be strong enough to survive such events without severe damage._

_Cold wind howled outside the tent and Bilbo could almost taste the bitterness on his dry tongue. He swallowed and finally broke the silence. “I could think of nothing else to shake you out of your madness,” he uttered quietly._

_“I know,” Thorin replied in that deep rasp that never failed to make Bilbo shiver. “As I said on the Ravenhill, you’d acted as a true friend would.”_

_“Is this what we are, in the end?” Bilbo asked, his heart beating wildly in his chest. “Friends, I mean.”_

_Thorin’s unreadable gaze felt heavy as it lingered on him._ _“If you wish it, then yes,” the King answered finally, “nothing but solid friendship between us.”_

_It turned out that Bilbo was an utter fool indeed. And a coward, too. He didn’t dare to ask if there was a chance of something more between them, even though that was what he wished for. He might not be the only one, even. The look in Thorin’s eyes seemed to hold some hopeful inquiry about_ more _, but that might as well have been Bilbo’s imagination. He would rather not risk the friendship he had, not for something so uncertain.  And so, he just nodded._

_“I wish it.”_

_“I’m glad,” came Thorin’s curt reply._  

_Bilbo pursed his lips. He couldn’t shake the heavy feeling that some things between them were beyond repair._

Still, they both had been trying to mend their friendship since then. Thorin’s state hadn’t improved much, so Óin hadn’t allowed many people to visit the King’s tent. Bilbo was one of the few frequent guests, Dwalin was the one usually on guard, so it was no problem. The Hobbit had been coming by every two days or so, and his relations with the King had actually got better. There had been no awkwardness between them at this point, just easy conversation and good-natured jokes.  

And so, Bilbo entered the King’s tent once again. Thorin was still laying on his back, but skin wasn’t deathly pale anymore, and any movement was visibly less painful for him.

He smiled at Bilbo in greeting, and Bilbo grinned back while sitting next to him.

“How are my sister-sons?” Thorin asked immediately. “Have you seen them?”

Bilbo felt warmth blooming in his chest. Thorin always asked about the boys first.

“I saw them yesterday,” Bilbo answered, “some colour has returned to their faces, but they’re not their usual selves, not very talkative. Still in coma.”

Thorin sighed, great guilt apparent on his face.  “I will never forgive myself if they don’t make it,” he whispered.

“Oh, Thorin,” Bilbo sighed, “we talked about this before. They’re going to make it, I’m sure of it. They’re Durins, they – ”

“Endure,” Thorin finished and exhaled heavily. “I pray they do.”

Bilbo squeezed Thorin’s hand but let it go quickly. The weight of Thorin’s gaze was upon him again.

“Bilbo,” Thorin started gently, “what ails you?”

The Hobbit blinked in surprise. “How do you—”

“I know you,” Thorin answered quickly, “you are distracted by something.”

Bilbo sighed resignedly. “I’d like to ask you about something,” he murmured, avoiding Thorin’s eyes.

“What is it?”

“It’s been brought to my attention that some people may think that we’re courting and –“

“Who told you that?” Thorin frowned.

“Farí,” he answered quickly, intending to explain who Farí was in a moment. Somehow they had never talked about him before.  

“Since when it’s his place to pry?”

“He explained that he shouldn’t have done that but I’m…” Bilbo blinked. “Wait. You know him?”

“He’s one of my cousin’s most trusted people,” Thorin explained, “I’ve heard about him. And I’ve heard that he’s been seeing you during meals.”

Bilbo didn’t even have to ask how Thorin had come by that knowledge. It must’ve been one of their friends’ doing.

The Hobbit nodded. “He keeps insisting on it even though I suspect he has many better things to do.”

“Possibly,” Thorin agreed, “he must have some interest in you, then.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “The rest of our Company thinks so as well and they tease me about it endlessly.”  

Thorin chuckled and shook his head fondly. “So they would,” he said with a small smile, “And don’t worry about the possible gossip. People will always talk… but I think the rumours will be silenced soon enough.”

“Silenced?” Bilbo frowned. “But how?”

Thorin’s eyes started twinkling with mischief. “By the start of your courtship with him, of course.”

Bilbo was about to pull his hair out in frustration. “Why does  _everybody,_ ” he drawled, “keep insisting that he wants to court me?”

“Maybe you and Farí seem to be a match from heaven.”

Bilbo growled. Thorin laughed.

They didn’t speak for some time after that. Bilbo had had enough of the ridiculousness of dwarves, and Thorin looked way too smug about that. But then the habitual frown started returning to Thorin’s face and Bilbo knew the King was about to say something serious.

“Are actually fond of him?” Thorin asked cautiously.

Bilbo considered this question for a moment. He couldn’t really say that he was  _fond_  of Farí. They simply got along well. Farí was quite attractive, Bilbo had to admit, but the idea of courting didn’t sit well with him. 

“I just… like him.” 

“If you say so.” Thorin sounded rather sceptical. “Just remember that...” his voice turned serious, gaining that enchanting edge of grave deepness, “as your friend, I want the best for you.” He gazed on the Hobbit with an earnest look in those eyes of his. “If he makes you happy, then be happy.” 

“Thank you,” Bilbo answered quietly, his throat tight.

He was moved by Thorin’s words but not in a good way. The tears welling up his eyes were not the tears of happiness or gratitude.

He was such a silly hobbit. He had been silly all long.

_‘As your friend’_ , oh, why was he realizing that only now? 

Thorin wanted him to be happy with somebody else. Because he liked Bilbo, nothing more. Thorin’s warm looks and kind smiles had been just that. They  _might_  have shared something unspoken, beyond friendship, in the past. But it was gone now. Those doors were closed.

An image of Farí smiling down at him entered his mind. Maybe different doors could be opened.

It should be a hopeful thought, yet all he felt was heavy sadness. But Bilbo was sure he would get over it soon. It was not a hobbit thing to dwell on the past, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _malkûn_ \- (obviously according to the Dwarrow Scholar dictionary) means "half-man/ male hobbit"
> 
> Writing is something between torture and fun, but non-linear narrative is actually so fun! And it allowed me to be evil - I just took you back to the time more that a year and a half before the kiss in the prologue! Please don't hate me. That much. I hate myslef enough for all of you, I assure you. Honestly, I couldn't shake the feeling that this chapter is pretty bad all the while writing it, like it's just boring, I'm such an insecure human being ;-;
> 
> Anyway, I'd like to make some points and explanations concerning this chapter, so...
> 
> \- let's start with Farí, that sneaky golden dwarf. I imagine him to have Gerard Butler's features, so he is handsome indeed. I was curious how he and Bilbo would work out and it turns out they just... bicker good-naturedely. They're both bright and witty, so they enjoy each other's company. Bilbo honestly can't help it, he likes him *wink wink*  
> In the description of his appearance when they first meet, Bilbo concludes that Farí is a leader because he wears a fur. Bilbo's been around dwarves long enough to understand fur's significance. Now, that's something I noticed in Jackon's "the Hobbit". The dwarves wearing fur that I noticed were: Thrór, Thráin, Thorin, Fíli, Dwalin, Dáin. So, to me, a fur may indicate: high social rank/ high military rank/ both of them/ noble heritage/ all of that combined/ some of them combined. Or it just may be a misinterpretation on my side. But still, furs are cool, so I'm going to stick to them being important in the dwarven (at least in the Longbeard's) society. 
> 
> \- now let's dive into the bagginshield hell. Bilbo and Thorin's conversation about the Arkenstone got a bit wild but I think that's understandable. When they were on the Ravenhill, they thought they had no time so they didn't speak about the hurtful stuff, they wanted to part in kindness. But in my story Thorin lives (that's how it actually was, right? Right?), so they have time. And they are both angry with each other. I mean. Imagine somebody you're in love with (or even a friend) doing the things they did. Ouch. It's not like bam! Forgiven! No, they have to live with the consequences, which are heavy.
> 
> \- the Battle of Five Armies took place on November 23, 2941 T.A., so this chapter takes place 16 days after it
> 
> If there are any mistakes, please point them out to me :D 
> 
> Whoo! These notes are getting way too long! Thank you for reading <3 
> 
> (This chapter was edited on January the 4th, 2019).
> 
> What do you think, is this chapter ok?


	3. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, here I am, showing up after everyone forgot about my existence! XD 
> 
> Of course, there are no words that can express how sorry I am for the delay. The last months were busy for me, and I'm not feeling that well mentally, so yeah. I added the "slow to update" tag because I think it's only fair to do so. 
> 
> Anyway, Happy New Year, you guys! <3 May 2019 be kind to you, I wish you all the best things in the world, you beautiful souls! ;) 
> 
> CAN U IMAGINE SOMEONE DREW A FANART FOR THIS FIC, THO??? The wonderful and amazing Eldikar_The_Maginificent did a gorgeous portrait of Farí, and it makes me so damn happy! Go check it out, here's the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16150910
> 
> Sooo, are you ready for lots of Thorin's brooding, nad then two giant fools being giant fools but doing good? Enjoy this chapter, then! :3

_The 23 rd of January, 2942 T. A._

“We’re snowed in.”

The crackling of the fire filled the silence that followed Dwalin’s words. The King’s chamber, which Thorin and his nephews had been moved to more than two months ago, was warm and quiet. The tranquillity of the room was so soothing that it was unimaginable that any hardships could’ve been taking place anywhere in the world.

Yet they were, and it was a great problem. There was no way out of the Mountain. The blizzard that had started yesterday hadn’t ceased; it snowed even more heavily from what had been reported to him. Erebor was now a deadly trap if they didn’t have the sustainable amount of the needed supplies.

“Do we have enough food to survive this?” he asked.

“Barely so,” Dwalin answered grimly.  

“At least one entry must be cleared as soon as the blizzard stops.”

Dwalin nodded.

“Then we’ll need hunting parties, we’d all gladly have some fresh meat. Who would lead them?”

“Dáin, who else?” Dwalin shrugged.  

Of course. It was obvious that the Lord of the Iron Hills would do the tasks of the King; Thorin was still bedridden. It frustrated him immensely, yet Dáin’s help was invaluable, so Throin refrained from complaining.

Not olny had Dáin come to their aid in the Battle, but he had also agreed to send two dozen carts of food from the Iron Hills to Erebor. Thorin paid him a pretty sum for that of course, but that mattered not – he stopped caring about hoarded gold. Still, they had abundance of riches that was useless when it came to suriviving the winter. Thankfully the caravans with food had arrived just in time – a heavy blizzard had closed all the passages to the Mountain just two days after that.

That had been the only piece of luck they had in a long time. The restoration of Erebor progressed tediously – just when one problem was tackled, three more difficulties arose. Thorin’s mind was therefore troubled with many worries, and the greatest of them was his nephews’ health.

He sat up slowly and looked at Fíli and Kíli. The lads were laid near the fire, on two beds standing close to each other. Furs covered their bodies almost up to the chin. Yet, the covers couldn’t hide the fact that their cheeks were now very hollow, and their complexions were greish due to such long slumber. Óin and other healers cared for them the best the could but the attepts to wake them up had been fruitless.

Gandlaf had assured them that the princes would wake, but the wizard hadn’t known when would that happen exactly.

“Their minds are fighting off the horrors of the battle, and their bodies need a lot of rest in order to heal,” Tharkûn had said, “we should give them a bit of time.”

Yet time passed and nothing really changed. The continuity of the line of Durin was still uncertain. The lives of his dear sister-sons were not decided yet. What Thorin feared the most was that they would never wake.

Dáin could become the actual King in the future, after all.

Even the near future did not appear very bright, and as if that wasn’t enough, Thorin’s conversation with Bilbo that happened yesterday made the King not look forward to the future at all.

_As usual, they were cacthing up with the day-to-day events. Bilbo talked about how he spent the morning helping in the library, when he suddenly stopped in mid-sentence._

_“Oh, I forgot to tell you!” he exclaimed. “I’ve begun settling my affairs in the Shire.”_

_“How so?” Thorin blinked in surprise. “What is it that you need to settle?”_

_“ I sent a raven to inform my relatives that I’m actually alive. I bet Lobelia have already tried to steal Bag End for herself,”Bilbo grumbled._

_“Lobelia?”_

_“Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, that nasty woman. She’s always envied me my smial.”_

_“What a loving family you have.”_

_Bilbo snorted.“She’s a disgrace to the Baggins name but there are many decent hobbits among my kin.”_

_“Surely there are.”_

_Bilbo squinted at him with a half-smile and half-grimace that told him the Hobbit didn’t appreciate his sarcasm. Thorin smirked and wanted to tease Bilbo futher, but then a sudden thought made him freeze. “You don’t think of leaving Erebor, do you?” he asked, and his heart stopped at he way the Hobbit dropped his gaze to the ground. “Bilbo?”_

_“Well.” Bilbo cleared his throat. “I’m not planning on leaving now of course, it would be beyond silly in the winter. I’d like to set out for the Shire as soon as the snow melts.”_

_Thorin swallowed, trynig to calm the feeling of raging, painful protest inside him.“You can stay here as long as you like,” he rasped._

_Bilbo sighed shakily.“Thank you, but...” He shook his head. “The Mountain, as magnificent as it is, is no place for a hobbit.”_

_“Why?” he asked fervishly. He was ready to_ beg. _Bilbo could not to leave him. “How can I convince you to stay?”_

_“There’s not much you can do apart from changing me into a dwarf.”Bilbo let out a short, somehow nervous laugh. “I’m a hobbit, Thorin. To me Erebor’s a bit... overwhelming. It’s all stone, too much darkness. I need greenery and sunlight. I long to feel soil underneath my feet. I need a garden to look after. And some sensible hobbits around would be good, too, because you dwarves can drive me quite insane!”_

_Thorin chuckled despite a heavy weight of dark hopelessness settling in his chest. “If you say so. Just remember that you will be always welcome here.”_

_“And for that I thank you very kindly.” Bilbo patted his arm. “If somebody had told me after the Battle that thing would turn out this way, I wouldn’t have believed it at all!”_

_“We’re on such friendly terms so quickly that I sometimes still don’t believe it myself.”_

_Bilbo chuckled. “Indeed. But I suppose we just tried quite hard to put it past us. Even though it was really awkward at first, I admit”._

_Thorin couldn’t help but smile slightly at the memory. “It was the same for me. I couldn’t figure out how to behave at the beginning, I wasn’t sure if I could trust you again. But now... I do, even more so than before all that mess.”_

_“Oh.” Bilbo blinked at him. “How come? I don’t even trust myself in some things.”_

_Thorin frowned but choose not to ask about what Bilbo meant exactly. Instead, he said, “I appreciate your courage to act on what you think is right, even against a great authority. I know you hobbits don’t care about kings, and even though it irritated me at the beggining, now I see the advantages of it.  I’ve also come to understand your peace-loving ways. Whatever you do is aimed at preventing conflict, and I_ so _value peace when I consider all the battles I’ve fought, especially the last one.”_

_“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world,” Bilbo said the exact words Thorin had used on the Ravenhill._

_“You remember,” Thorin whispered in amazement._

_“Of course I remember, Thorin. I will never forget it.”_

_Thorin was speechless at the look of earnestness in Bilbo’s eyes. The Hobbit looked at him as if Thorin’s words really meant something important, as if there was something Bilbo really wanted to say but didn’t know how. But then, the Hobbit ducked his head and murmured, “I just hope you will forgive me for what I did one day.”_  
  
_Thorin couldn’t stand the way the Hobbit avoided his gaze, he felt like he couldn’t breathe without Bilbo’s eyes on him._

_“It’s forgiven,” he blurted out, and Bilbo’s head shot up immediately. He stared at Thorin blankly for a moment before a smile lit up his face._

_“I’m so glad,” the Hobbit breathed._

_Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s arm with a smile on his own. Then, he took a deep breath and spoke up measuredly, “Do I have a chance of having your forgiveness?”_

_Bilbo ducked his head again, and touched his neck briefly. It seemed to be an unconscious brush of fingers, a sign that Bilbo’s thoughts wandered to the moment when Thorin held him over the ramparts and tried to kill him. Thorin’s hands had been on Bilbo’s neck back then._

_Thorin swallowed to stop the thightening of his throat. The memory of that moment was foggy in his mind, but he easily recalled the hearbreaking betrayal he had felt, and the rage, which now were mingled with burning shame and regret._

_To think that things could’ve been so very different, hadn’t had that situation happened. Then, he could have dared to hope that he had any chance to touch Bilbo’s neck at all. And if permitted, he would have caressed it tenderly, or gripped it passionately, or kissed it –_

_“Yes,” Bilbo answered, looking up at him, “you’re getting closer to it each day.”_

_Rarely any words ever caused him such joy._

His thoughts came back to the much less joyful reality.

Bilbo was going to leave him.

He didn’t know how to bear it, so he chose not to dwell on it right now.

In the period of silence when Thorin’s mind wandered, Dwaln had been standing still near the King’s bed. Thorin had always valued the silent companionship that his friend offered.

Unexpectedly, however, Dwalin spoke up at one moment, “Master Farí asked for a persmission to see you.”

Thorin turned his head to Dwalin sharply. “Why on Mahal’s beard would he wish to see me?” he asked with a frown.

Dwalin shrugged. “No clue. He only added that he had some matter of great importance to discuss with you.”

The King raised his eyebrows at that. This day seemed to be filled with unwelcomed surprises. “Very well,” he said, “bring him in.”

And so Dwalin did. In short time, there was a knock at the door and Master Farí entered the room, while Dwalin kept watch outside. Thorin’s guest bowed and introduced himself, “Your Majesty, my name is Farí, son of Fara, I am at your service.”

There was pleasantness about his person, Thorin had to admit. His golden mane was something to behold, and he looked to be in his prime years. He bore himself like a dwarven lord should, albeit not as proudly as his position allowed him. There was something in his eyes, however, that raised Thorin’s slight suspicions. There was a glint of bright mind in them, and such a mind with dark intentions never boded well. Yes, there was acuity in Fari’s gaze, but it was not yet a kind of cunning that evoked his distrust, it was rather a sharpness that made him a bit alert.  
  
Thorin, of course, had a proper reason for such alertness. Farí was the one who had been trying to charm Bilbo, after all. Perhaps Bilbo himself didn’t actually realise that there was some truth hidden beneath all their teasing about him and Farí, but no dwarf could mistake Farí’s actions for a mere intent of forging a friendship.

Unfottunately, it seemed that there was not a single thing about Farí that Thorin could disapprove of, and that made him awfully disapproving altogether. Thorin wanted the best for Bilbo, and Farí’s actual motives were unknown, so he had every right to be suspicious. Or so he told himself.

_The_ truth hidden deep within him. It was a dark abyss of his mind that he didn’t allow his thoughts to wander to. He avoided it at all costs because it caused him pain so much more racking that he had ever felt physically.

The truth was that friendship with Bilbo was splendind but Thorin _yearned_ for more.

It didn’t happen often that a dwarf fell in love with someone. Most of the Durin’s folk devoted their lives to their craft. But if such a thing actually occured, a dwarf would love only once, stubbornly and passionately, and, if rejected, would never ask for another.

The truth was that Thorin’s heart had settled for the very being he had destroyed his chances with.

He should have said something during that blasted conversation in the tent, yet he had stayed silent. He had decided he would rather not risk what he already had had, and, in the end, it had turned out that Bilbo hadn’t wished for more.

It had hurt, but Thorin was glad – he was lucky enough that Bilbo even wanted to speak to him after all that had happened. However, that didn’t mean Thorin was satisfied. He wasn’t. He would never be.

Thorin didn’t indulge in that gloomy train of thought for too long; he was curious what his guest had to say.  “Do sit down, Master Farí.” He gestured to the chair beside his bed.  

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” the dwarf said as he took his seat. He shot a quick glance towards Fíili and Kíli and commented, “how are the Princes faring? Is there any improvement in their health?”

“It does not change much,” Thorin answered, trying to keep his voice as guarded as possible.  

The corners of Farí’s mouth turned downwards grimly. “May Mahal bless them with strength.”

Thorin bowed his head in thanks but said no more about the matter. He was in no mood for pleasantries, so he got straight to the point, “I’ve been informed that there’s something of great importance that you wish to discuss with me. What is it?”

Farí nodded. “It’s about Bilbo.”

“Bilbo?” Thorin repeated incredulously.

“Yes.” Farí was looking at him somehow worriedly as he asked, “I suppose he hasn’t mentioned the way most of our people treat him?”

Thorin shook his head gloomly.

“He’s not of the best reputation.”

The King sighed heavily. That troubling fact had, indeed, been reported him by Nori many times. The thought of Bilbo’s bad name had been on his mind very often after the Battle. It wasn’t just that Bilbo should be treated this way, and Thorin had to do something about it before the adverse dwarves took action.   

“It’s because of the Arkenstone,” Farí continued, “in vain I tried to spread the word about Bilbo’s good deeds among my men. They won’t look upon him more kindly. They want to put him on trial.”

Thorin inhaled sharply. That was the news that he had been worried to hear.

“We really must do something about it. If we do not stop this, Bilbo will get burt eventually.” There was such desperation in Farí’s voice that Thorin’s temper flared instantly.

“And why does this matter have such importance to you?” the King snapped, “Master Baggins is the member of _my_ Company, his well-being is _my_ concern first and foremost.”

Farí bowed his head slightly to the side, taking Thorin’s outburst with a great amount of grace. Then, he looked into the fire with unseeing eyes and said, “I’m going to be completely honest, Your Majesty.”

Those words raised a strange dread within Thorin but he waited for Farí to continue, and for some reason it felt like waiting for the fatal blow to strike.

“Before I met Bilbo I had always thought myself to be married to my craft, I had believed that I would only ever its calling. But then my heart heard a different call. My craft can’t satisfy me now.”

Farí couldn’t have put it more bluntly.

Thorin took a calming breath. “And what about Master Baggins?” he asked, trying to keep as much composure as possible, “does he happen to know how you feel?”

Fari pursed his lips. “Bilbo doesn’t know, I haven’t told him anything. He considers me a friend.”

Thorin chose to say nothing to that, feeling a bitter sort of satisfaction. It was strangely pleasing to find that he wasn’t the only great fool in the Mountain.

“I’ve come up with a solution to the Arkenstone problem,” Farí declared, unphased by Thorin’s silence. “It would be… bold. But I do not see any other option.”

“What do you suggest?” Thorin asked.

“Declare him a _bâhu-khâzad_.”                  

That would be bold indeed. Bilbo would be even allowed to learn Khuzdul, as Gandalf had been. It was, however, a rather ingenious idea, and it had crossed Thorin’s mind once or twice before. He needed no more encouragement to do what Farí suggested.

“Very well,” he said, “spread the word among your men that everyone is expected to be in the throne room after dinner. But first go fetch Balin, and then Dáin.”

Farí’s jumped to his feet with an amazed look on his face, as if he didn’t believe he succeeded. “Will Dáin be the one to announce it?" he asked with a grin.

“No,” Thorin replied, “I will do that.”

“But, Your Majesty...” Farí frowned, freezing in place. “Your condition –“

“Damn my condition,” Thorin snapped, “carry me to the throne room for all I care, my people must see their king.”

Farí remained unmoving, and Thorin felt a flare of irritation shot through him again. “I need to do this,” he insisted with a stern glare. Farí _still_ did not move, so Thorin added, “for Bilbo.”

The blonde blinked at him with a sudden understanding. He opened his mouth but shut it almost immediately, and a rough, manly sort of sympathy dawned in his eyes. Now Farí could _see_. They were both stuck in the same misery, and they both were so hopeless that they might as well team up for the greater good. The greatest good.   

In this mood of silent agreement his guest bowed and left the room without another word.

***

Farí looked way too smug. Bilbo narrowed his eyes at the dwarf but Farí just smiled and continued to walk with him towards the Throne Room.

It didn’t bode well. Bilbo had a bad feeling about this.

Everyone in the Mountain had been told that there was going to be a special kind of announcement taking place after dinner. There were many discussions what this was all about, but Bilbo guessed only few expected _Thorin_.

Thorin bloody Oakenshield, just _there_ , sitting on the throne, his Company already standing on his sides. His face was still very pale, a stark contrast with his dark garments and dark hair, and his cheeks were sunken, but he looked breathtakingly powerful anyway, and so _right_ , as if he had been sitting there for all his life.

Every dwarf bowed to the King before taking their place among others some distance away from the throne. Bilbo wasn’t sure if he should do the same but then Thorin’s gaze found him and the King beckoned at him to take his rightful place among the Company.

Bilbo looked back at Farí, who gave him an encouraging nod, then took a deep breath and stepped forth. He walked up to the throne, feeling the weight of dozens of gazes fixed on him, and stood on Thorin’s left.

In fact, Bilbo was so close to the King that he could discreetely scold him proper. “What in the Yavanna’s name is the meaning of this?” the Hobbit hissed, “what were you thinking, to strain yourself so – ”

“Easy, Bilbo,” Thorin murmured, not even sparing him a glance, “I’m all right.”

Bilbo was quite ready to disagree but a sudden commotion among the dwarves caught his attention. The crowd was cheering loudly and making room for someone passing through. Soon Dáin emerged from the group. He greeted the King and took his place on the right side of the throne.

“Everyone’s here,” the Lord of the Iron Hills said.

Bilbo’s heart clenched. The ones who survived and were able to stand were here, and it wasn’t a number that great. A hundred dwarves, maybe a bit more, was looking at them expectantly. Bilbo could tell that the guards watching over Fíli and Kíli, and the heirs themselves, were absent, for obvious reasons. Bilbo recognized Zahra, one of the two generals who accompanied Dáin to the Battle. The other two had stayed home to protect the Hills while their Lord was away.

Then there was Farí himself and some of his men that Bilbo recognized, but apart from that the crowd was just a kaleidoscopie of unfamiliar faces, most of them staring at him with hostility poorly-concealed. He surpressed a shiver and looked at Thorin in search of some kind of help.

The king seemed to be deep in thought at that moment, his brow furrowed, but soon he sighed and moved to stand up. And stood up he did, slowly, very slowly, and Bilbo’s breath hitched as he watched the process. Thorin’s body trembled from exertion, making Bilbo fear that the King would collapse at some point, but he didn’t. He stood straight and proud, his eyes scanning the crowd.

“Hear me out, Durin’s folk!” he shouted, and his strong voice carried far, “we’ve gathered today for an announcement that concerns a member of my Company. He’s also a person I have the honour to call my friend.  That is master Bilbo Baggins.” Bilbo could feel his head spinning. “Worrying rumours have reached my ears. Some of you want him punished for taking the Arkenstone.” A murmur went among the crowd, and Bilbo was quite sure he was going to faint. He was glad Óin was standing next to him, at least he would receive quick help.

“Let me just say this”, Thorin continued, and everyone in the Room listened to him with bated breath, “we wouldn’t have recmlaimed Erebor if not for master Baggins. He saved my life when he put himself between my unconscious body and the Defiler’s warg. He freed us from the elven king’s dungeons. He riddled Smaug and in the end... saved me from myself.”

A lot of dwarves started whispering furiously. Bilbo tried to grip the throne in some discreet so as not to fall down.

Thorin regained evreryone’s attention with a commanding shout, “All of you! Listen carefully, for Bilbo Baggins was the one to object my unhonourable actions! He was the one to care about our safety and our good name so much that he disobeyed the King’s orders! What he did with the stone was a way of shaking me out of my madness... and it worked. He has my eternal gratitude for all that he has done.”  

Bilbo smiled slightly, and Thorin went on, “and thence, for all his help to us and our quest, I declare Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, of the Shire, a _bâhu-khâzad_.” A stunned silence fell over the room, and Bilbo turned to Thorin helplessly, not knowing what this was all about. “A dwarf-friend,” the King clarified upon seeing the confusion on Bilbo’s face. “My decision is finite.”

The Company cheered uproariously, and Farí smiled so brightly he looked like the sun itself. Before Bilbo could actually process what had just happened, Thorin positively _bellowed_.

“Hail, Bilbo Baggins!”

“Hail!” every dwarf shouted back obediently.

The sheer power of all the mighty dwarvish voices nearly swept Bilbo off his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bâhu-khâzad is my own Khuzdul formation, derived from the Dwarrow Sholar Dictionary. It literally means "friend of dwarves", but I chose to translate is as a "dwarf-friend". I couldn’ find the exact term there, so I had to invent it. I thought that if Thrandy declared Bilbo an elf-friend, why wouldn’t there be such a title among dwarves? Gandalf was allowed to learn Kuzdul (and I think we all know what a damn big deal that is), so I kinda made it up that the Wizard is a bâhu-khâzad too. And now Bilbo is on the same level of badass! <3
> 
> Together with this uptade I’ve also edited the two previous chapters slightly, corrected the mistakes I could catch, rewritten small fragments here and there and changed the way in which chapters are titled. 
> 
> So, what are your thoughts on this chapter, dear readers?


	4. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear folks! :D How has 2019 been treating you so far? Hope you're all right <3 A big, big THANK YOU for all the wonderful comments as well as the kudos and even more bookmarks <3 they really keep me going ;) 
> 
> Maybe some of you've noticed that I added a bunch of new tags (those starting with "jealousy"). I came up with them when I was drunk but decided to add them anyway because they're rather accurate xD 
> 
> Soooo, do you remember Thorin and Farí being more or less civil during the last chapter? Well, forget about that. Things change. Get ready for Thorin repeatedly claiming he's fine, but then nothing is fine because Farí _dares_ , and Bilbo dares, too.
> 
> Enjoy! :3

_The 1 st of March, 2942 T.A. _

Bilbo was laughing again. Thorin stared.

The Hobbit was sitting some distance away, at the table that Dáin, Farí, Zahra, and some other Iron Hills dwarves occupied. Bilbo had been invited there by Dáin himself. The Iron Hills dwarves seemed to finally take liking to Bilbo. Not all of them, of course, but it was said that some immensely enjoyed the Hobbit’s quick wit and sharp tongue.

Declaring Bilbo a _bâhu-khâzad_ had worked wonders on the way dwarves treated him. They had no choice but to respect the Hobbit now, anyway. Disregarding the title given to him by the King himself would mean disrespecting the King directly, and there weren’t many dwarves so daring among them.

Most of Thorin’s people did not bother causing any stir or voicing their discontent. Not today, at least. Today was a day of celebration, as there was much to celebrate. The heirs survived and were on speedy route towards full recovery. Thorin had been crowned earlier that day. The cleaning up after dragon’s damage and years of neglect was finished. All the forges would be put to use soon and the mining, as well as trade with men and elves, would resume.

A major thaw was drawing near and some of the snow had melted already, which made all the roads to the Mountain passable. Erebor now could welcome any new-comer, and those were to set out from the Blue Mountains as soon as all the snow melts. Dís had sent a letter promising she would come with them, and that was not the end of good news.

The negotiations between Erebor, Greenwood and Men of Lake Town had been finished. Bard and his people were in the process of rebuilding Esgaroth and Dale, having full confidence in Erebor’s support of every kind. Thranduil had been glad to retrieve to his forest after having been given the White Gems of Lasgalen.

The Elven King had even sent a few carts carrying a generous supply of wine to Erebor, as a sign of his goodwill. Of course, the Durin’s folk would appreciate ale much more, and the amount of food gracing the tables was rather modest, but no one complained. The dwarves of Erebor feasted, played music, sung, danced, and rejoiced.

Bilbo was no different. He looked so happy as he laughed at something Zahra had said that Thorin couldn’t help but stare. Bilbo was at such ease among Durin’s folk nowadays that the King found it stunning in all the right ways.  
  
He saw Farí take Bilbo to the dance floor.

He was glad for his friend. Truly glad.  
  
“Uncle.”  
  
His gaze snapped to Fíli sitting on his right.  
  
“One word from you can stop this,” his nephew said, looking at him intensely, then pointing his chin in the direction where Bilbo and Farí now danced.  
  
His dear sister-son, the ever-perceptive. Fíli could often guess way too much from careful observation yet never revealed his discoveries unless he planned on making use of them in good faith.  
  
His dear sister-son was now looking at him with such sympathy that Thorin almost wished it could be reasonable to scold him for that.  
  
He didn’t do that, of course. He tried to put up a stern front, even though he knew Fíli would see right through it. “Bilbo is free to make whatever choice he wishes to make,” he answered, “I’m not going to try to keep him away from anything.”  
  
“You really deserve to think of your own personal happiness for once,” Fíli whispered hotly, “I assure you that if you gave Bilbo even half a clue that you –”  
  
“I won’t hear it,” he cut in sharply. He had to stop his temper from taking hold of him and let out a sigh. “My people have their home back. My kingdom is going to be prosperous again. My heirs are well again.” Thorin smiled and leaned his forehead against Fíli’s. “There’s nothing more that a king could wish for,” he added in a hushed tone.

They stayed like this for a short moment. Thorin rubbed his nose against Fíli’s gently as that gesture always brought comfort to his older nephew. Then the King straightened his neck and looked at Fíli again. His nephew’s face was a picture of vehement protest, and there was determination in the set of his brow.

“ _Mim’ibin_ ,” Thorin warned, “I ask you not to meddle. Promise me that you, nor Kíli, won’t be bugging Bilbo about this matter in any way.”

“But you’re _the king_ – ”

“Promise me.”  

Fíli’s shoulders slumped. “I promise,” he muttered sulkily.

Thorin chuckled. His nephew looked liked a pouting child now. It was amusing to watch him behave so when he was dressed in all the finery suitable for the King’s heir and he had an air of a true warrior about him.

The King was glad that there was still some child in Fíli, though. Both of his heirs had grown up way too fast anyway. The Quest and the Battle had taken their youthful naivety away forever.

Fíli and Kíli had awoken on the last day of January, a few hours apart from each other, and from the moment their eyes opened it had been plain to see that they were changed. There was something in their eyes that hadn’t been there before – their gazes had become more hardened, as if guarding something away. They did not behave the same way, either. They had grown more quiet and restrained; Thorin had heard them talk little during the first two weeks of February, when the three of them still had been bed-ridden in their chamber.

As his heirs would later start to walk and recover even more, some of their cheerfulness returned to them. Kíli had even begun to be mischievous again, and not much more could make Thorin’s heart as glad.

The King smiled as he looked as his younger nephew, who now sat among the musicians and played his violin. Kíli could not stand up for a long time yet, but he had been very insistent to join the feast, quite literally dragging Fíli along with him.

Fíli was visibly not in the mood for merrymaking, and Thorin could sympathize with that. They both weren’t, to be honest, and so they had been keeping each other company since the rest of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield had left the table.

The ‘Ri brothers and the sons of Fundin sat together with some Iron Hills soldiers, the ‘Ur family was among the musicians, and Óin and Glóin were in the middle of a drinking contest. The only member of the Company dancing right now was Bilbo.

The Hobbit danced surprisingly well, actually, which led Thorin to the conclusion that someone must have taught Bilbo the steps beforehand. It took no guessing who that person was.

Thorin poured himself more wine.

He saw Dáin approach them in the corner of his eye when he was in the process of downing his cup.

“Enjoying yourself, I see,” the Lord of the Iron Hills said as he sat down on the King’s left, after greeting Fíli.

Thorin snorted. “You don’t look to be in a festive mood either.”

“Indeed, I am not,” Dáin answered with a crooked smile, “I wish to go back to my Hills already.”

Thorin clapped him on the arm. “Do not worry, it won’t be long now.”

“Aye,” Dáin replied quietly and joined Thorin in his silent observation of the dancers.

“Your Hobbit is settling in nicely,” Dáin commented after some time, “but have you considered what are we going to do about this?”

Thorin wished he hadn’t known what exactly his cousin was talking about. “Is there anything to _do_?”

“Would you approve of it?”

“Why would I not?”

Dáin looked at him searchingly, but soon sighed, as if in resignation. “All right then,” he said, “I can’t say I won’t approve myself. It would be a fine union. One of your legendary Company and one of my generals seems a good match.”

“Aye,” Thorin agreed half-heartedly, his eyes once again fixed on the dancers.

Just then the dance ended. Thorin watched as Bilbo clapped with the others. What a sight the Hobbit was, all breathless and joyful. Thorin tried not to imagine what it would be like to dance with Bilbo, had he been able, but his wounds didn't allow him such exertion yet. Fortunately, he did not have to observe as anyone danced with Bilbo anymore – someone shouted “Song of Durin!”, and soon more and more dwarves joined, chanting the words until Thorin raised his hand to silence the crowd.

“Come, Fíli,” he said then, and got up from the table together with his heir and Dáin. Everybody raised a cheer, and Throin smiled as he looked at the faces of his people, all showing respect and loyalty.

It was moments like this that he remembered to nourish in his memory for the tougher times. The weight of the crown had sometimes been almost too heavy for him to bear, but the thought of the love his people held for him had always lifted his spirits high enough for him to carry any burden.

Thorin decided to sit among the musicians, with his sister-sons next to him. When everybody was seated as they should be, and the rest of the dwarves gathered around them, Thorin started humming. Everyone else joined, and the Song of Durin began.

***

As Bilbo listened to the song, and to Farí’s humming next to him, strange imaginations and thoughts came to his mind. The loudness of the tune rose and fell, and an atmosphere of gravity was building up with every beat of the drums’ rhythm. One by one, every dwarf joined with their singing and humming, yet Thorin’s powerful voice was most distinct.

The King sat among the musicians with his heirs on his sides, and maybe because of the magnificence and dignity in the way he sung, as if he had been the one to build all the grandeur of old that could never be restored again, as if he had been the one to have seen the crown of stars shining upon his head in the waters of the lake, Bilbo thought he was looking at Durin the Deathless.

The Hobbit noticed that others saw it too. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the King, their expressions full of reverence and wonder, their voices filled with fierce love towards their King. They appeared as if their very hearts were singing for him.

Bilbo joined the humming because he could feel it too.

That was when the dwarves switched to Khuzdul, and the sound of it quickly stunned the Hobbit into silence.

The language of Aulë added to the roughness and the depth of the dwarves’ voices. It made the song so much more fit for Erebor’s halls that, for a moment, Bilbo could swear he heard the stone _hum._ It was a baritone so low that it must have reverberated from the very core of Arda, a rumble so powerful that it made every fibre of you tremble.

Stone was might that could crush you. It was mountains so massive that only Eru could tear them down. It was caves so old that only monsters from the time before Sun and Moon lingered there.

Stone was proud and unyielding, and it could stifle you with ease.

Bilbo’s heart raced. This was not where he was supposed to be, trapped beneath, hopeless at the Mountain’s mercy.

He was, after all, a being of the earth. Hobbits were just like the good soil they so cared about, which had an unbreakable strength of its own. The earth had a quiet confidence, a patient persistence. The earth could wait for years upon years, but surely, when a proper moment came, it would give birth to an unstoppable bloom of life. Even if all the life had been destroyed and burnt down, the soil was sure to give birth to it once again. And it then would happen again, and then again, endlessly.

Stone couldn’t do that. Stone only prided itself in the ages it had seen and the hardships it had endured.

Bilbo did not like that. He wished for the song to end. Thankfully, it did a few minutes later, and the dwarves seemed to shake out of a kind of trance. They slowly rose an applause that rang and echoed through the Hall.

Bilbo could not stand all the noise any more. “I need air,” he blurted out.

Farí watched him closely, frowning in concern. “You do look pale.” He offered his arm to Bilbo. “Let’s take a walk outside, shall we?”

The Hobbit shook his head fondly but took the arm anyway. Fari led him out of the Small Feast Hall to the nearest balcony.

Bilbo had found there were actually a lot of balconies on the upper levels such as the one they were situated in right now, and it was a true blessing; the Hobbit needed fresh air and sunlight often. Thorin had even accommodated him in rooms with actual windows, which Bilbo appreciated immensely.

When Bilbo and Farí exited the Mountain, a wave of cold night air hit them in the face. Bilbo closed his eyes and took a deep breath, cherishing the scent. He could smell the coming of Spring, he felt it deep down in his bones. A thaw was here, and it caused a strange impatient itching underneath his skin. He longed for the bloom of Spring.

He longed to go home.

Bilbo leaned against the railing with a sigh. He looked at Farí next to him – the dwarf was watching the sky, paying him no mind. Bilbo blinked in surprise and gazed up at the sky as well.

The sight took his breath away.

The jet-black sky was dotted with _so many_ stars. The countless constellations shone down on them with silver-cold, crystal light, and it made Bilbo feel graced with something unearthly. He drunk in the view, more transfixed with every second, and clean forgot about everything around him until Farí’s murmur brought him down to earth.

“I like looking at them,” the dwarf uttered quietly, “I often wonder how many happenings of the world they have seen.”

Bilbo hummed in agreement, but then a thought occurred to him. “A dwarf, admiring stars?” he said, “isn’t that an elvish thing to do?” He giggled as Farí scowled at him. “You’re strange for a dwarf, I must say.”

“And you’re strange for a hobbit, from what you’ve told me of your folk,” Farí replied, “doesn’t it make us quite a pair?”

Bilbo turned to him, his eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you being too forward now, Master Dwarf?”

“And aren’t you? You just called me _strange for a dwarf_ , I have every right to feel insulted, you know?”

Bilbo almost apologized, but he noticed the smirk on Farí’s face. “Oh you!” he tried to sound irritated but he couldn’t keep from smiling. “Don’t. Change. The subject.” He stabbed his pointing finger in Farí’s chest with every pause.

Farí, in return, started jabbing the Hobbit in the side, which made Bilbo yelp and laugh at the same time.

“You’re ticklish?”

The dwarf’s expression didn’t bode well so Bilbo started backing away, but he wasn’t quick enough. Farí grabbed him and started tickling him mercilessly. Bilbo soon managed to escape Farí’s hold, but he didn’t run too far before Farí caught him again and resumed the torture until Bilbo freed himself for a moment. And so their game went for some time, and all the while the two of them were stumbling and giggling like little fauntlings.

They certainly had had too much wine.

“Stop it this instant, Master Dwarf!” Bilbo gasped out when he had grown too out breath, “oh, this is so improper!”

These words, unexpectedly, made Farí stop.

“Aye,” the dwarf said as he finally released Bilbo, his brow furrowed somehow worriedly. “But we could make it proper.”

“What do you mean?” the Hobbit asked, panting heavily.  

Then, Farí smiled, and the merry glint in his eyes returned. “Think. Decipher me.”

Bilbo almost stomped his foot in exasperation. The _nerve_ of that dwarf, honestly. He glowered at Farí for a long moment with his hands on his hips but achieved nothing but amusing the dwarf even more. He huffed in defeat. “Well, I’ll have you know, Master Dwarf, that tickling is a rather childish thing to do among hobbits, and I guess that dwarves are no different in this aspect.” He looked at Farí in search of confirmation and the dwarf nodded solemnly. “Now, the only moment when a grown-up hobbit would be forgiven for behaving this silly is if they were fooling around with their...” The truth started flooding Bilbo like a cold wave. “Their sweetheart... during courtship.”

Farí swallowed thickly. “Yes, Bilbo,” he said in a rough whisper, “You’re as bright as ever... You’re bright and kind, and so many other things that I...” He shook his head and pulled a small wooden box out of a pocket of his fur coat. He handed the box to Bilbo. “I have a gift for you. Open it.”

Bilbo took the box hesitantly. When he raised the lid he discovered a small ring seated inside. He gaped at Farí.

“Take a closer look at it, please,” the dwarf said, “and tell me if you like it.”

Still shell-shocked, Bilbo walked a few steps away towards the corridor’s entrance where the light of torches could still reach.

As he started examining his gift, he gasped.

The ring was absolutely _beautiful_. It was made of gold, with a perfectly round emerald that was held by tiny leaves on both sides. The rim was shaped like delicate floral branches, and every detail was done with painstaking precision.

Bilbo turned to Farí, unable to utter a word.

“I crafted this when thinking of you,” the dwarf broke the tense silence finally.

“Oh.”

“I would’ve given it to you earlier but the forges here weren’t repaired until recently,” Farí went on, once again filling the hush between them, “jewelling is my craft so it was only fitting that I would make such a gift for you.”

“It’s beautiful, truly,” the Hobbit reassured.

Farí smiled slightly. He came up to Bilbo and stood very close. The golden light seeping from the corridor made the dwarf’s hair glow quite splendidly. The lines of his face were softened, and the look in his ever-watchful eyes was gentle and warm.

Or maybe Bilbo was too warm.

Farí’s closeness didn’t help much with that.

“With this gift I would like to express my desire to court you,” the dwarf said in a low murmur that was rather pleasant to the Hobbit’s ear, “by accepting it you agree to consider my offer.”

Bilbo really needed a smoke.

This was not the way he imagined his life would go. _Definitely not_.

He just wanted to wait until the winter’s end and go home. He longed to be back in his smial, he dreamt about drinking tea again. He was just a simple hobbit of the Shire, not some heartbreaker of dwarven lords.

Oh, how ridiculous the very thought was!

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily, not knowing what to do. He looked at Farí, and the dwarf was watching him with such open and hopeful expression that it made Bilbo soften.

“Farí...” the Hobbit started gently, “I can’t promise you anything.”

“But would you at least consider it?”

There was such insistence in Farí’s voice that Bilbo actually started thinking about it.

There were so many questions bubbling up within him. What would the courtship mean? What would he be agreeing to? Where would he even _live_? What of the Shire?

He thought of how he still remained a confirmed bachelor among his people. He reminded himself that he should be respectable as the head of the notable Baggins family.

Yet the Quest had changed him, hadn't it?

Bilbo bit his lip and glanced at Farí again. The Hobbit couldn’t deny the surge of fondness that he felt every time he as much as thought about the dwarf. They did get along very well indeed, and were quite matching in mind and spirit.

Farí wasn’t like Thorin, unparalleled and far beyond anyone’s reach. Thorin deserved something much more grand than a simple Hobbit from the West.  

Farí, on the other hand, was right there, inviting the Hobbit for another adventure, and this one actually seemed promising. That prospect was far too appealing for the Tookish side of him.

Bilbo smiled. In the end, what was the harm? He took the ring out of the box, which he handed back to Farí, and slid the ring on his pointing finger.

“Yes,” Bilbo said finally, “consider, I could.”

The dwarf grinned and let out a happy laugh. Bilbo suddenly found himself in Farí’s arms as the dwarf twirled around with the Hobbit in the air.

“Put me down, you impossible dwarf!” Bilbo shouted indignantly, “I’m not some maiden to be carried like that!”

Farí laughed again but put Bilbo down. He brushed his coarse hand through Bilbo’s curls, making the Hobbit shiver, all the while looking at him with so much emotion that Bilbo was unable to hold his gaze.

“ _Dajnel_ ,” Farí whispered.

“What?” Bilbo breathed. “What does that mean?”

Farí chuckled cryptically. Before he could give Bilbo any answer, however, a deep cold voice cut through the air.

“Master Farí.”

Thorin was standing at the balcony’s entrance.

Oh Yavanna. He must’ve been standing there for some time now.

Bilbo sobered immediately.

The King started walking towards them slowly, with his hands clasped behind his back, in a way somehow predatory. His expression was _murderous_ , and his gaze was fixed steadily on Farí.

Farí straightened his back and pulled Bilbo close with an protective arm around the Hobbit’s shoulders. Thorin’s eyes caught the movement, and for a moment the King stared at the way Farí was holding Bilbo’s arm as if he wanted to cut the dwarf’s hand off. 

The King approached Farí finally, still glaring at him so formidably that Bilbo suppressed a shudder. The Hobbit really did not understand what was going on.

“Thorin, Farí?” he asked, “could you _please_ explain what is this all about?”

Thorin’s gaze barely flicked to him before the King returned to glaring daggers at Farí.

“I’ll ask you just once,” Thorin said to him, in a low, icy tone, “ _what_ were you doing with my burglar?”

Bilbo frowned. He certainly didn’t enjoy being talked about and blatantly ignored simultaneously. He tried to free himself from Farí’s arm in order to scold Thorin properly, but the grip just tightened. He huffed.

“Farí –”

“Your Majesty,” Farí answered at last, his voice surprisingly even, “I... Bilbo and I were... celebrating, so to speak.”

“Celebrating,” Thorin repeated flatly.

“Aye.”

“And would you be so _kind_ to share what were you celebrating exactly?”

Farí tensed even more. The Hobbit heard him sigh quietly and shakily before he replied, “Bilbo agreed to consider my offer of courtship.”

Thorin opened his mouth but no words came out of it. His gaze turned fully to Bilbo, and his face was a picture of hurt and betrayal, as if had found out about the Arkenstone for the second time. Bilbo could swear that, for a moment, there was a glint of tears in Thorin’s eyes and _he didn’t understand_.

“Bilbo,” the King choked out, his voice wavering. Then, in a blink of an eye, his face became a guarded mask. He cleared his throat. “Congratulations.”

After that, with nothing more than a curt nod, Thorin stormed off.

Bilbo could honestly say he had never been so confused in all his life.

***

He walked through the halls towards his chambers but noticed nothing on the way. All he could see was red and only one word kept echoing in his mind.

_Traitor._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, we have a problem. At first I intended the Bilbo/ Farí ship to be just a way of achieveing a new dimension in the suffering we call bagginshield. But now... now I'm getting _feelings_. I'm slowly falling for the ship I've created, what do I do? ;-; how do I stay faithful to bagginshield? I'm in panic. 
> 
> Anyway, about that Thorin's moment with Fíli at the beginning - I just had to, I like Fíli more than Kíli (even if you fight me on this, you'll never change my mind), and he's such an underappreciated character in the films, he deserves so much more love ;-; I feel like we need to see much more of Thorin and Fíli together. 
> 
> Also, Thorin being affectionate with his nephews makes me _m e l t_. He calls Fíli _mim'ibin_ which is, once again, my own formation derived from the Dictionary, and it means "little gem". 
> 
> The Song of Durin that I had in mind is that sung by Clamavi De Profundis (link here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uxfoa23skHg), please check it out, it's incredible. It's not sung in Khuzdul, of course, but I made this addition in the fic because it's kinda obvious to me that dwarves would sing in both languages about something so important.  
> I first heard it when my boyfriend played it in the car when we drove alone. The sun was setting behind us, the super moon was looming over the horizon before us, nothing but forests and hills covered in snow around us. It was such a magical moment, I immidiately wanted to include the singing of this song in this story. When I later sat down I wrote this scene, it also resulted in Bilbo's refelctions upon stone and earth, somehow xD  
> 
> When it comes to that stuff about a lot of balconies in the Mountain and the existence of Small Feast Hall, I made that up, just to let you know. And if you ask me why important stuff seems to be happening on balconies in this fic, I'll tell you I have no idea.
> 
> At the beginning I was all undecided if I should write this chapter the way I did, with the "confrontation" between Thorin and Farí, as it gave me sort of Twilight vibes? Kinda?? This whole story gives me those vibes, really, and I chided myself for it at first. I'm still partly (like in 3/4 hehe) unhappy about how this fic is turning out and having more doubts than ever, but in the end I decided to bathe in the pool of sweet self-indulgence. If I want this fun, I shall have my fun! So I actually loved writing that scene ;'). 
> 
> Such long notes again, whooosh! What are your thoughts on this chapter, dear readers?


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